Love is a form of madness
by Borys68
Summary: After BofA Tauriel hugs her delicate bump. For months there had been no news from the Love of Her Life. She is worried! Fixit, All Hawt! Dwarves live. This is my first venture into the wonderful world of Kiliel romance so please be gentle. Don't forget to R&R, PLZ! Haldir.
1. The Worry

Tauriel felt the new life grow inside her. Like every elleth ever born she had full control over conception and could come with child only if she willed it so. The problem was that she was now wondering had it been a mistake. True that Kili was no Beren, at four feet and a half to her meagre Sylvan Elf five and a half. Yet he had he had promised to love her forever, even if he had enough hair on him to stuff three cushions. King Thranduil had such dwarrow hair stuffed cushions, heirlooms from Doriath, he had explained, so she knew how much was needed.

Three months had passed since they had groped in desperate, love filled embrace behind the coal sheds in Laketown and almost two months since the battle, yet there had been not one letter, nor a raven, not even a lice ridden THRUSH from HIM.

Hugging her middle she rocked side to side and continued on her dark musings. Could they be together? Would that obnoxious uncle of his allow their union? Would her obnoxious king allow their union? But, most of all, she angsted whether he still loved her as he said he would. The mortals did not love like the elves, she knew that. Would ... would he be true to his word that he'd move Mountain and Earth for them to be together?

A perfectly formed tear formed in her beautiful eye and slid down her alabaster cheek, falling off at her delicate jaw and splitting into sparkling water particles after it had struck the cold, uncaring floor.

* * *

><p>AN: Elven conception follows Tolkien's Laws and Customs of the Eldar (LACE)<p> 


	2. The Decision

The decision

The next day the fair elf maid began to act. She packed some clothing besides her heavy duty travel, figure hugging leathers, the ones with lace-up thighs. Tauriel needed the extra garments for the Big Day when she was to meet Kili again. The set included a delicate silver circlet for her fiery-red hair, a green tunic with sleeves split at the elbow and showing the red lining. The occasion called for more feminine gear so she'd swap her skin-tight leather breeches for a just below the knee under-dress with silver stitching over a flowing black material, and matching leggings underneath. A dainty belt of spider-hide would accentuate her still narrow waistline. Three inch heels rounded off her apparel, plus the standard embellishments like earrings and piercings.

The gravid Sylvan elf faced her King. She masked her condition with tricks known only to the nature attuned Avari, leaving the much more sophisticated Sinda Thranduil clueless. Meh, ellyn were clueless anyway, the grizzled Captain of the Guard thought with a becoming pout.

The fearsome Elevenking Thranduil eyed his battle-forged Captain of the Guard with a wary eye. There was something ... off ... about her _fea_. But then again, all ellith seemed to have something off with their _fea_, as far as he was concerned, so did not dwell on it. Six thousand years of marital bliss had taught him not to be too inquisitive, else the bliss turn to something less pleasant.

"So what do you wish of me, _penneth_?" – the King asked his Red Scourge of the Woods.

"I wish to take my month long leave, as I am entitled to every _yeni" - _the Sylvan elf ejaculated boldly, looking Thranduil in the eye.

The Elvenking extended his hand and lifted her chin even higher but the proud - although lowly - Sylvan did not flinch.

"And why is that?" – the broadchested ellon murmured, almost purred, like some ferocious feral feline with a mane of molten silver. The King towered over his Officer, almost rubbing his flesh, draped in a thin gown, against her leathers. He liked the female form in leathers. The Avari could feel his body heat through the flimsy garment.

"I have family matters to attend to" – Tauriel uttered the half-truth with utmost conviction, ignoring the arrogant Sinda's invasion of her personal space.

"The git probably thinks I enjoy his touch!" – she thought bitterly, yet without full certainty.

Thranduil's eyebrow shot up his forehead like a startled caterpillar.

"But you are an orphan! What family matter might it be?" – he pressed on his questioning, running the back of his hand over her right cheek, neck, then skirting her collar bone before he retracted his appendage.

Ignoring the raging flutters of her nethers the fearless spider hewer waded deeper into her prepared lies.

"It is my cousin, Tauwar. He is holding a baby shower for his latest." – She lied, although not much, as Tauwar and his wife had been producing an elfling every decade or so. For the last _yeni or so._

"Again? Unlike the Noldor, who multiply like the rats they are, don't the Avari shift to other interests once they have two or three elflings?"

"My cousin has no other interests, My Liege".

"Go then" – the King haughtily dismissed her.

"Go then and do the things females do when they get together" – he finished with a chauvinist's disdain for the autonomy of female behaviour.  
>.<p>

Meanwhile in Erebor:

"Kili, you must marry." Thorin said in his low voice which resembled the rumble of a mountain avalanche.

"No, I cannot!" Kili gasped, surprise and anguish in this voice.

Thorin looked at him with half hooded eyes with a gaze as hard as Smaug's scales.

"Then speak, nephew, about what might prevent you from such a natural step ..." the King Under the Mountain rumbled again.

* * *

><p>AN:<p>

Ellon, ellyn - Sindarin, male elf, elves

Elleth, ellith - Sindarin, female elf, elves

Avari – the ancestors of the Sylvan elves, very ecological

Sindar – western elves, much more industrialised.

Penneth – shorty

yeni – elven measure of time – 144 years in length

Tauwar – Sindar, Morning Wood

Fea – an elf's soul; e.g. just by looking an elf can tell if another elf is married and whom with.


	3. The run up to the Meeting

The meeting

Taking leave of the King, now with the backpack on her back, her sword at her side and bow in her hand, the short Sylvan with all the necessary curves set out on a jog across the Mirkwood. With field craft lore coursing in her veins courtesy of her Avari ancestors, she knew where North East was and headed in that direction, skipping like a squirrel – which she so resembled in colouring - from one bough to another.

Suddenly she heard:

"Hey you!" in atrociously pronounced Sylvan. She sighed – it was Legolas.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I was out to take a leak but I saw you so I ran after you." The heir of Mirkwood laid bare the reason behind his actions.

"Well, I'm off to the baby shower for Tauwar's latest." She lied.

"But he and his wife live to the South West?" the Princeling pointed out the inconvenient fact.

"Oh, you know how we ellith are with directions!" - Tauriel giggled, hiding her lips behind her narrow hand, batted her eyelashes, crossed her knees and wriggled the toe of the raised foot into the ground, and patted her hair, all at the same time.

"Aha!" Legolas commented with male smugness, admiring her graceful and coordinated simian like movements.

"I'll find my way eventually! Bye!" Tauriel chirped with the voice of a nightingale and skipped onto the next branch, waving goodbye with a bright smile.

"Wimmin ..." Legolas shook his head and resumed his search for the tree which _felt_ just _right_ to complete his business.

Once the trees ended the elleth, anxious for the reunion with the begetter of her child, dropped to the ground and took off at a loping pace which only a pack of orcs fleeing across Rohan could match – for a while. As all other ellith around the third month, the extras her body was producing to nourish the new life within her made her the fastest creature on legs in Middle Earth. It was a fact universally acknowledged that not even a pack of wargs could run down a pregnant elleth in her 2nd quarter, sooner their black hearts would burst with the exertion.

"_Rhosgobel _rabbits eat my dust" – her lip curled with feral disdain - evidence of her Moriquendi ancestry - at a savoury memory.

"Made good stew, they did. And the hedgehog's quills good toothpicks" – the red headed beauty remembered fondly.

After a few hours, with Erebor already looming above her like the Carrock over the thalweg of the Anduin, she stopped for a drink and some nourishing, yet not fattening wild boar sausage with peppers. She left the garlic flavoured salami for later, as she wished to keep her lips sweet and her breath fresh. Invigorated with the high calories snack Tauriel resumed her run.

She passed Dale and neared the Main Gate of the Lonely Mountain. She was in luck! Kili was out there! Wut!

The sight of her bow wielding prince warmed her heart. Her hair was a bit sweaty and messy from the run, but the Sylvan elf maid knew that the flush on her cheeks made her eyes stand out in an attractive way and made her look kissable.

But ... but ... but what was he doing!?

Her unwed mother's to be heart almost stopped!

* * *

><p>AN:<p>

Moriquendi – another name for Avari and Sylvan elves. Tolkien had about half a dozen terms for them.


	4. The Heart of Stone

Tauriel's keen elven eyes spied her Prince surrounded by young dwarrowdams, the said Prince deeply engaged in kissing their hands, pecking their hairy cheeks and generally basking in their attention! She felt her heart ache and burst like a watermelon hit by an armour piercing arrow. And how UGLY those girls were! Short, FAT – with bums easily of greater girth than Dwalin's shoulders, hang-out tummies, outrageously sized breasts ready to shoot up from too-tight bodices. Ugh! What a slagheap of barfalicious hussies! And the git was evidently enjoying himself – well dressed and groomed, preening, strutting about like a rooster in front of his hens.

A truth long established among the Children of Mahal was that slapping was the lowest form of expressing affection. Many a tale of the most heartfelt woe over the anguish of lovers sang by dwarrow bards included the line "she did not care enough to slap him", or words to that effect. Good manners, drilled into all dwarrow from the time they were dwarflings, was that if a lass alternatively sobbing and screaming about breach of promise was slapping a lad, then propriety demanded one to look away and pretend not to hear. Even if the lass was not of the Khuzdul and the lad the Heir, manners were Manners. Hence the guards had no intention of interfering as long as the she-elf did not draw blood. The dwarfettes tried to intervene – rules for feminine behaviour being different, and apparently they were stakeholders in the proceedings too - but two black eyes and one broken nose later – back kicks did not interfere with slapping – they fled the frenzied and evidently dangerous red haired creature!

"How could you had done this to me! I wanted to be your wife! I wanted to have your babies!" – Tauriel sobbed.

"You never said you were serious! We were just two desperate souls seeking some solace before inevitable death!".

To her the fact that she had not told him anything held no bearing.

"You should had guessed, you heartless sod!" - the Captain of the Guard screamed into the dark eyed dwarf's handsome face.

The 2nd Heir to Erebor shrugged.

"I'm not a mind reader like the Witch of the Golden Wood is rumoured to be. How was I to know that you were planning out a life for the two of us together? Now I am promised to choose a wife from amongst the dwarrow-maidens you have roughed up and that's that!"

"But I'm with CHILD, you ORC!"

This quietened the fearless dwarf archer for a few moments.

"If it's mine you will get a stipend" – the son of Dis rasped.

The sterling quality of Kili's upbringing and character shone through in his stoic sufferance of the slapping AND pounding administered to him over the next few minutes.

.

.

Fili looked at his brother's battered, swollen face with awe.

"She really loves you ..."

His brother winced while Oin patted his face with damp rags and washed the blood away.

"Loves me or not, it's too late. I had promised Uncle that I will court and choose one of those maidens from the Iron Hills. Three years to chose, by my eightieth birthday, to be followed by five years betrothal to see if we fit. Eighty five is a good age to wed. I protested against marriage as I'm too young, but with such courtship and betrothal periods I think I'll be ripe to settle down."

Kili shrugged again.

"Had I known a few days ago what she told me NOW, I would not have committed myself before Thorin. But today this is water under the bridge. I offered her lodging and care ... but she hit me so hard I don't remember the next few minutes very well. I hope Tauriel stays. She'd get ex-Royal Mistress status. That's quite high rank among the Ladies of the Court, or so Balin tells me."

And he'd get to keep his child – a though flashed though Kili's mind - even if an odd looking half-breed. The idea of fatherhood was making its way at a glacial pace into his brain. He was to become a father?! He thought about the infants he'd seen - wailing and constantly peeing or puking or shitting themselves. And HE was to get one of those?

His long nosed brother continued to look at him with glassy eyes.

"What love ..." – Fili admired Kili's swollen shut right eye and concussion – "you should elope! You should run away with her! Run, holding hands, across flower bedecked meadows, with wind in your hair, singing about your love, with the Sun shining upon you ..."

Kili shrugged again.

"You do that brother. You run off with one of the Mannish girls from Laketown. You be the romantic. I have my duty here to Thorin, I have my future as heir, I have my share of Smaug's Hoard. You go running around homeless and hungry, telling your woman that there's nothing for the pot today."

Before falling asleep, lulled by his brother's snores, Fili wondered if he would ever find a girl which would slap him. He sighed at his brother's cold heartedness – had it been him, he'd be eloping with the elf, half way to the Misty Mountains by now, and to Mordor with the dwarrow maids he also had promised to woo and pick one to marry by his eighty fifth birthday.

* * *

><p>AN: I am using fanon, movie-based perceptions of Kili's and Fili's age, i.e. around Mannish 20.<p> 


	5. A bit of angst

With fat tears silently rolling down her porcelain cheeks the elf-maid watched her finery turn to ashes in the hearth. She no longer had any need to pretty herself up. She had given out her heart and it had been cruelly rejected. Tauriel added her heels to the fire. Had Kili been an ellon their bond - formed by the union of their bodies - would had been non severable. But he had proven himself to be unworthy. It physically pained her to do so but she ripped their spiritual connection, strand by strand. Just like her finest dress had turned to ash – thread by thread ...

.

The barely of age dwarrow franticly ruffled through the bedding. Still warm! There was still hope! He sprinted – like all dwarrow he was a born sprinter – towards the gates. There was still hope!

Yet there was non ...

"She left but moments ago, Your Young Lordship. There were no orders to keep anybody in."

Fili gazed ruefully and wistfully into the haze of the still dark western sky. There was no way he could catch her now. He rammed his head against the wrought iron hinges of the gate. How stupid of him to wait! He should had gone to her immediately after speaking with his brother! With a cuckoo's gift from his brother or not, that woman was worth everything!

.

Indeed, moments before, in the murk before dawn, a figure too tall to be a dwarf – not to mention too slender and too graceful of movement - slipped out through the small door beside the Main Gate. The hood of the cloak was drawn upon its head, hiding the tear-swollen alabaster cheeks and blood shot eyes. The vapour rising from the elf's mouth carried a whiff of garlic. Turning her back at the Mountain Tauriel began her ground eating jog West, towards Lindon where Cirdan the Shipwright dwelled. There she would take a ship to the Undying Lands. She wondered if running hard would free her of the child ...

.

A week later ...

Thorin and his heirs were inspecting the mines. Catching the glitter of _something_ in the debris Fili threw himself at that _something_ and hid it in his hands, peeking at it in a manner which kept it hidden from his brother.

"Show me!" - the said brother demanded in a whinny voice.

"So not showing. Mine!" the blond, long nosed Prince answered.

"Saw first!" – Kili whined again and lunged to force the _something_ from his brother's hand.

"Did not!" – Fili elbowed his brother to keep him away from his newly found _precious_.

In a moment the two were wrestling on the floor. Within seconds over 400 pounds of prankish and boisterous dwarrow rolled into a roof support ...

CRACKABOOM!

Two days later Bofur and his team of miners dug out the bodies of the Royal Mine Inspection Party. There were no survivors. Word was sent out to Dain, that the King Under the Mountain and his heir had been killed by The Mountain.

.

Also a week later, but elsewhere

Haldir's nose wrinkled at the stench of orc blood. He had heard fighting and eagerly joined the fray, lobbing off orc limbs left and right. His keen nose smelt the scent of elven blood in the air and made him root amongst the bodies searching for one of the Firstborn. Finally! To his surprise it was a rather small elleth, not a large warrior he had expected. And the elf-maiden was alive! Bleeding from many cuts, but alive. And there was something ... off ... about her _fea_. But the March Warden cast aside the spiritual for the practical and physical. He used his long and clever tongue, the colour of prize ham, to lap at the elleth's wounds. It was a time honoured and honourable post-battle practice among the Moriquendi – _you lick my wounds and I lick yours_ – to clean the cuts off toxins the orcs might had used on their blades, to stop the bleeding and to speed up healing. One of the elleth's cuts was high on her inner thigh so he lapped at her hurts, red with embarrassment at where this put his nose. When he was overly attentious his honker even touched her THERE. Was she with child, a thought inexplicably came to his mind ...

Having administered first aid he took the elleth's battered body in his arms, cradling her gently yet securely, and hurried towards his talarn.

.

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry for such a short chapter. I was having health problems. But I did not wish my wonderful fans - WAVES and sends out KISSES - to be deprived of an update. There will be a sugar-oozing epilogue!<p>

AN2: Heart broken Tauriel confused Lindon and Lorien and ran in the wrong direction. We know how ellith are with directions ...


	6. An Unexpected Chapter

The previous chapter ended with the March Warden licking the ex-Captain of the Guard's wounds and then carrying her princess style to his treehouse - _tallan._

* * *

><p>The fearsome elleth drifted in and out of consciousness. She felt she was being lapped at by some happy puppy. Or so it seemed to her. But that was just crazy, as she had been running towards Lindon and found a group of orcs. She hoped that they could save her the bother of running all the way to Mithlond ...<p>

The petite red head came to again to being delicately touched in her Secret Place. And alarming sounds of lapping from that area. With a groan she tried to bring her thighs together. And to cover her belly. Her groans and movements stopped the poking and lapping but made a giant shape loom into position above her instead. Tauriel felt so small and vulnerable! But in a moment the gaze of heliotrope orbs met that of her viridian spheres. The tenderness and compassion, the desire to take care of her she saw in those orbs dispelled her fears. Her heart stopped its frenzied beating over what may the orcs do to her. Nonetheless her heart kept up the frenetic pace fuelled by feelings she had last felt a week ago and had thought dead and gone forever.

During the skirmish one of the goblins vertically slashed the March Warden's gambeson. By some incredible feat of physics this did not harm the elf but left him bare chested, the garment being sliced from collarbone to belt buckle. Hence Tauriel was in direct contact with the smooth skin covering the not-so-smooth undulated mass of muscle underneath. She could smell him – a mix of wood smoke, roasted venison, pine of the mountain scented soap, some sweat. To the keen olfactory senses of a Sylvan elleth Haldir smelt like Mister Right! Pressing her nose against his naked chest she also let her hand roam over the Arda spanning pectorals – or so it seemed to her. Feeling safe and protected she let unconsciousness take her again. Her last thought before darkness took her was that a smooth chest – although devoid of the sprit of wild adventure the furry one had given her – had an air of Righteousness which the hairy one had not.

Ten years later

Haldir was on his back and drew the women sharing his bed closer. Under his left arm he had Tauriel. She was facing him, her head on his shoulder and a leg thrown over his stomach. This had hitched her night-shift too high for propriety, so he cupped her perky bottom with his shovel-like hand as to hide her orange coloured bush. For propriety, to save the other female in his bed from this sight. And also because having his hand THERE felt good.

He peeked to the right, where under his right arm the strawberry blond haired Firiel had rolled into a ball and snuggled her back against his flank. Haldir smiled fondly at the blonde – her underage charms were irresistible.

Tauriel never spoke of her daughter's sire. He didn't press the point. He did not care – Firiel was Tauriel's and – by extension – his. The fierce orc slaying March Warden teased the mite's meaty yet pointy ear making Firiel cover it with her tiny fist.

Haldir turned to the left again and admired the swelling middle of his mate – they had already agreed on the names – Gwemborn or Angarag. He started nudging the redhead awake. He nudged her again as the first nudge had been ineffective. Tauriel had planned to go hunting this day and the time to leave was almost upon her. In reaction to his ministrations the elleth snuggled against him even more, rubbing against his flesh, as if trying to merge into one with his bulk. Half-consciously she moved her long, fine yet strong fingers over his chest murmuring "how tall" in her sleep. How endearing! Haldir leaned down and kissed the top of her head. If she overslept she'd growl at him for half a day but that didn't matter – he'd just feed her more honey cakes than usual. Flanked by the women of his life the March Warden drifted back to sleep. He still was astonished by being married after a lighting-fast five year courtship, but it felt GOOD.

Half a year later

Holding a doll with a mop of red hair in one hand, and a more substantial doll topped with a blond little mop, Firiel was playing house:

"And then Mummy yelled – you plank, the patrols are all scheduled wrong!" – and here the red headed doll jumped up and down.

"Then Daddy shouted – I've been running patrols this way for over twenty yeni, you cabbage head!" – the blond doll shook its head.

"Mummy then said – you inbred Galadrhirm twit – I wonder what inbred means? – this means you've been in the wrong for over twenty yeni!" – the auburn haired doll waved its arms about.

"Says who? Daddy asked Mummy – a pointy stick using Greatwood yokel who burned the potatoes last week?" – the blond doll pointed its arm at the red topped doll.

"Then Mummy put her hands on my ears and after a moment I saw Daddy leave the tallan stomping and slamming the door." - the red doll was positively trembling in fury, and then the blond doll stomped away.

"And Mummy threw knives at the door – again – even though I am not allowed to as it is improper." – the red doll made movements with arms, accompanied by "_vshoo-tzing_!", "_vshoo-tzing_!" sounds.

"And later they kissed a lot and I got a baby brother" – this was also illustrated by the two dolls holding their heads and rolling them to the sides a bit plus some "_smooch_! _smooch_!" sounds. Firiel arranged the two dolls on the ground, arms around one another, and covered them with a rag representing a blanket. She tucked them in lovingly. .

At this point the two dolls were joined by a non-descript ball of cloth which – if one was very generous – could be upheld as a _hint _at some bipedal creature.

"I would have preferred a sister, as boys are dumb, everybody knows that, but still he is better than any doll I have as he speaks a little already."

* * *

><p>AN:<p>

The epilogue grew and grew so this is the "Unexpected Chapter". The Epilogue proper will come at some point :)

_yeni_ - 144 years


	7. Epilogue

Lothlorien, 3002 Third Age

"Go Firiel! Go!" – encouraged by her parents and brother Firiel forced herself to keep up her pace, pounding the dirt with her well rounded lower limbs. Shorter legged than the other girls in the 400 yard race she needed to build up a lead before the ellith caught up with her. Unbeaten at shorter distances, at this middlish distance she still stood a chance to finish in the Top Three. And so she did, only Fuinurui's long strides besting her by one length. With Firiel being but sixty years of age - while her competitors, although also under-age, were all at least eighty years old!

It was held by the wise of Middle Earth that the Elves always are the first to know about anything happening in this world. The _what, when, why_ and _whom with_. The Lady Galadriel, the only being in Arda glowing with the light of the Two Trees, found pride and delight in knowing everything. And preferably first! She was not alone in this endeavour as the eldest beings in Middle Earth, Kirdan the Shipwright and his wife Ereglin also contended for this title. The trio had been involved in a "know first" friendly competition since the sinking of Beleriand and the dawn of the Second Age of the Sun.

Hence it was only natural that the Lady of the Light learned of the scuffle involving a red haired elleth in front of the main gates of Erebor during the short lived regime of Thorin Oakenshield the Gold Mad and his two nephews. The appearance of a red haired elleth in the Golden Wood a week later did not require a genius to connect the dots.

Looking at the still flushed from the race strawberry blond girl the Keeper of Nenya, One of the Three, wondered how could her people be so blind. Well, her adopted people, she being of the Noldor, even if with Vanyar and Teleri blood in her. Together with her husband, Keleborn, they had adopted the rustic Galadhrim once their overlord, Amroth, ran off chasing the skirts of some Nimrodel fleeing his lustful clutches.

As if her height and stout body proportions - falling outside any breed standard there existed for the Elves, be these the Eldar or the Avari - were not clue enough, Firiel's fea was different as well. Oh, her mother knew, hence the elleth's name, but Galadriel shook her head over nobody ever noting that Firiel was Mortal. Even her precociousness, doing things at sixty years of age which no elfling should be able of doing before ninety, had not led any of the Galadhrim to take a second look at her and scratch their heads and THINK. Was she surrounded by assholes, the Noble Lady wondered.

The Grace of the Eldar embodied glided over the lawn to the happy family – the bulky March Warden Haldir, his short, feisty warrior-wife Arodagnis (as this was the name under which she chose to be known amongst the Galadhrim), their stout daughter Firiel and their son Angarag. They bowed to her.

"Firiel, I decided to grant your wish to begin training with the Wardens."

3019 TA

Galadriel spoke to the mixed race hash of heroes.

"Nine have set out from Imlradis yet only eight have arrived at the Golden Wood. Let there again be Nine Walkers to thwart the Nine Riders. Firiel, please join us."

* * *

><p>AN:<p>

I ran out of ideas. Maybe I will write about the adventures of Firiel some day ... any hints at a ship?

I wish to thank all the wonderful people who reviewed, favourited and followed my work. It is you who make me keep on writing!

I love you all!

AN2:

The gossipmongering of the elves is mentioned by Tolkien - either in The Hobbit (most likely) or in LotR somewhere;

Galadhrim – the Sylvan elves of Lothlorien;

Galadriel and Keleborn moved to Lothlorien from Lindon (where the Kirdans live) sometime in the 2nd Age of the Sun; the events of The Hobbit and LotR are at the end of the 3rd Age of the Sun.

Firiel – Mortal Maiden;

Firiel is 5'3"/160cm and thickset;

Arodagnis – Noble Slayer (f);

Elves are mentally mature at 50, but keep on growing and round out physically at 100. Or so Tolkien said. Dwarrow are mentally and physically mature at 40 (according to Tolkien), although "combat ready" at 30, so I added 30 and 100 and divided by 2. And rounded it down to 60 as adequate age for military training. As Galadriel's close cousin Celebrimbor was BFF with the dwarrow, and Galadriel liked to know everything, I assume that her dwarflore is strong and she is familiar with the details on the dwarrow lifecycle.


End file.
